


eye to eye, thigh to thigh (i let go)

by redlight



Series: black and blue (and human too) [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Crushes, Drowning Metaphors, Experimental Style, Fantasizing, Ficlet, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, Introspection, M/M, Metaphors, Pining, Sexual Fantasy, Shiro is pining, Smut and Angst, except its a dream, lance is only mentioned, shiro needs a hug, so yeah im not really sure what this is, unhealthy thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight
Summary: Lance is easily, humanly pretty.It's the kind of beauty that makes Shiro’s teeth hurt, right in the molars, a feel of rush and pain. A throb of bloodflow in his mouth and the pounding of heartbeat in his jaws.The kind of beauty Shiro's afraid to touch.When Shiro pines, he pineshard.





	eye to eye, thigh to thigh (i let go)

**Author's Note:**

> so....this was gonna be longer but i kinda like it as it is? 
> 
> hahaha i should be finishing the second part of pkmn au but hey it's almost done! i just;; wanted to post this lol 
> 
> title from ["little bit" by lykke li](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhDCR2dc04A)

Lance is easily, humanly pretty. 

It's the kind of beauty that makes Shiro’s teeth hurt, right in the molars, a feel of rush and pain, the throb of bloodflow in his mouth and the pounding of heartbeat in his jaws. The kind of beauty that erodes at his self-control and twists tiny, sharp stars under the thin, ill-fitting surface of his skin. Eyes as blue as their own blue planet, brown skin like dark, clay-stained sand; totally human and totally earthly. 

The kind of beauty Shiro's afraid to touch.

Maybe it's – maybe it's because he's afraid he'll _hurt_ Lance. It's an excuse; it feels _weak_ and _flimsy_ and _wrong_ like excuses do, but it's valid, isn't it? Shiro is taller, heavier, stronger – physically, at least. Shiro is corrosive smog-ridden air where Lance is a fresh breath of ocean breeze, Shiro is unending spatial abyss to Lance's shallow ocean-blue smile, Shiro's a goddamn _cyborg_ from a bad, over-dramatic sci-fi space opera and Lance is human.

Maybe it's an excuse.

('Cause Lance, Lance is strong too. Lance is _strong_ when he smiles through the bleak and desolate, Lance has a determination and thoughtless bravery within him. Lance is smart and strategic and a damn good shot, Lance is beautiful and terrible and a hurricane if let loose and left to spiral out of control, and _Shiro_ – 

Shiro might be making excuses.)

Shiro is not afraid of hurting Lance; this is the type of truth he might never admit. He’s not afraid of _harming_ Lance. Not physically, and Shiro would try his _damnedest_ to make sure he'd never hurt Lance in a way that's most personal, emotional – in the heart, in the mind, Shiro couldn't _dare_ hurt Lance like that. 

If he ever _did_ – 

Well, maybe Shiro would drown himself.

And that's what he's afraid of, if he sidesteps all his faux-heroic excuses.

(And maybe that's all Shiro can be, a hero that's nowhere close to reality, unreal and fictitious, a broken pedestal of a man who's partially inhuman and has a hell of a toothache.)

Shiro's afraid of drowning.

And Lance – 

Pretty, human, telluricLance – 

Shiro would drown for him.

Shiro would let Lance drown him. 

Shiro would let Lance entwine pretty, sturdy fingers into his hair, tugging gently, experimental and oh-so-attractively curious. Lance’s mouth would part delicately ( _his ever-moving, never-stopping rosy-brown mouth that's constantly careening into a lovely spiral of words_ ) and he’d _let_ Shiro press a thumb between his lips – but only in exchange for the tremble of Shiro’s hands.

Only in exchange for the chance to hold Shiro’s head underwater. Saltwater. Make his eyes sting and his throat choke and each of his lungs fill up with the gentle but too-slow too-painful _drip drip drip_ of liquid.

Fuck, Shiro would like it. Lance could drown him in a filthy bucket of seawater and Shiro would _love every second_. Beg for it, plead for it, _let me drown, sweetheart, make me drown_.

He’d relish it, _savor_ it, get off on it – all those filthy emotions and feelings that dare to flit across his thoughts, just behind his eyes. 

Maybe it's a nightmare, maybe it's an absolute _dream_ ( – ‘cause Lance really would be a dream to touch, flushed brown skin and dilated blue eyes and he’d probably bruise like a breeze so _Shiro would have to be careful_ – ) but Shiro keeps having these sleepful visions and they throw his balance into a wreck.

And then, Shiro always wakes up, with his fingers tearing into his bedsheets; half-hard, teeth hurting, jaws aching with the need to taste flesh and sweat. And Shiro groans into the desolate, castle-filtered air surrounding him, and slumps back into his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [twitter!!!](https://twitter.com/bubblegumlance)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not Ready to Die (Not Yet), Pull Me Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516091) by [realityisiron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/realityisiron/pseuds/realityisiron)




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